


Prosper

by wildwoods



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Bathtubs, Knives, M/M, Roses, neoclassical architecture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 14:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11106129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwoods/pseuds/wildwoods
Summary: Ron gives Chuck a switchblade, and a declaration.





	Prosper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruinsrebuilt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruinsrebuilt/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Ron, still naked from before, walked to the open window. His skin looked like marble in the sunlight. He lit a cigarette and turned to Chuck.

“You’re staying.”

It wasn’t a question, but Chuck hummed in the affirmative.

Ron was billeted in a luxurious town house, and had immediately claimed the master bedroom that took up the whole of the top floor. The room had high ceilings that were detailed in an intricate leaf motif, and Chuck had already spent hours staring at how the shadows cast by the relief changed with the sun. He didn’t imagine the previous occupants had done the same. Their was a picture of them, an ancient husband and wife, that had sat on the bedside table. He'd noted their pinched expressions, thought they looked like they'd never had joy in their lives. "So sad," Chuck had said, swigging from a bottle of champange as he did. Drunk, Ron had unceremoniously tossed the picture out the open window. Chuck had laughed and whooped at the glass shattered on the pathway three floors down. Now, it made him melancholy to think of someone handcrafting the design on the ceiling for him to be the first to get any enjoyment out of it.

There was a large bathroom with a clawfoot bathtub. All the fixtures were gold plated, and the large windows overlooked a garden bursting with Baby’s Breath and Lily of the valley. The window faced eastward, and in the morning the room would turn golden in the sunlight. Chuck had taken to waking up at dawn and lying in the bath, water up to his neck as the sun rose. That morning Ron had griped that Chuck was using him for his room and, flicking soapy water at him as he shaved, Chuck cheerfully agreed.

The four poster bed Chuck was currently sprawled out on had goose-down pillows and silk sheets that felt like heavy under his skin. The posts were a dark wood, carved with the same intricate leaf design as the ceiling. The drapes were a thick navy velvet, tied with gold trim. It was astounding how much wealth some people had. But Chuck wasn’t complaining; the room was far nicer than the Second’s billet, and his back was thanking him.

There was nothing to do here, they were all on stand-down, so Chuck buried his head into the pillow and mumbled, “come back to bed.”

He heard the dull sound of the wooden floors shifting as Ron moved from the window, and when Chuck blinked open an eye Ron was standing over him, silhouetted in the sun.

He remembered going to a touring exhibition of Roman art right before the Crash. His mom had dressed him in his Sunday best, and he’d pulled at the collar of his shirt as they wondered from room to room. Then they reached a life-sized replica of David. He’d hidden behind his mother’s leg, remembered the soft feel of her stockings as he looked up, mouth agape. He’d been in awe, looking at that naked body.

Looking up at Ron now he wondered if he looked the same.

“You look like a statue,” he said, pressing his thumb into the hard muscle Ron’s thigh.

Ron leaned down, and Chuck remembered he was made of flesh.

 

* * *

 

Later, as the sun was setting, Chuck was still sprawled across the silk sheets, but he’d worn Ron down enough that Ron was draped over him, nuzzling his face into Chuck’s chest.

“Mm,” he said, leaving a wet kiss high on Chuck’s collarbone. “Did you see the house two doors down?”

“The one with the ridiculous frieze? Not very alpine.”

Ron huffed in amusement then said, “you are such a queen sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh?”

Like Ron could talk, Chuck thought. Always with the fucking theatrics.

“You take longer baths than any woman, and now you’re judging the neoclassical architecture. It’s very…effete.”

Chuck wrapped his arms around Ron’s torso and rolled them over, pinning Ron’s arms to the bed. His skin looked all the more pale contrasted with the inky coloured sheets. But he wouldn’t let himself get distracted, and pushed down into Ron harder.

“Ah!” Ron looked up at him with wide eyes, like Chuck had actually taken him by surprise. Chuck grinned, pleased that Ron had let his guard down. “I took out an 88. And I pinned you.”

Ron gave him the slow, wolfish smile he normally reserved for jumpy replacements, and said, “nellies can do all sorts of things.”

But his eyes were warm, so Chuck leaned down to kiss him. He bit at Ron’s still-swollen lips and let his hands wander from his arms down along his sides. The skin covering his ribs was almost as soft as the sheets, and it made Chuck heady with want to feel it.

Before he could take things further Ron was pushing him away, laughing as he did.

“God, Chuck. You’re insatiable.”

He sounded pleased though, and looked positively sweet underneath him. Chuck thought if he was of the mind to tell anyone they wouldn’t believe him. Good, it was all for him. Happy at the thought, he kissed Ron again.

After several minutes, Chuck pulled back just enough to whisper into Ron’s lips, “I can’t help myself,” before kissing him again.

 

* * *

 

Much later, when it was after dinner and well and truly dark, Ron lit a cigarette and remarked, “you really are demanding.”

Ron was propped up by three plush pillows, and Chuck had his head resting on Ron’s stomach. He ran his fingers through Chuck’s hair, and Chuck sighed in contentment.

“You should take it as a compliment,” he mumbled, feeling Ron’s skin brush against his lips. He kissed there, right above the hipbone, and felt a heavy warmth in his limbs start to pull him into sleep.

“Mm.” Chuck heard him take a long drag of his cigarette, before he said, “no one’s checked out that house.”

Chuck knew what Ron was planning. He could never leave a thing alone, like a dog with a bone. Ron shifted under him, impatient probably, and Chuck fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Light pooled in from the open door, and for a second Chuck thought he’d been caught in Ron’s room. But the sheets next to him were cool, and before he could react Ron was closing the door behind him.

He marched to the imposing oak desk and dropped a heavy sounding box onto it. Chuck sighed, thinking Ron careless. The desk had rose vines carved along the legs, and the oak was smoothed to perfection. Chuck had laid naked on the heavy carpet, trailing his fingers along the design. The wood was so perfectly joined that it looked like it had been carved from a single piece of wood. Ron had laughed at him, said he was cute for caring. Chuck was too tired now to be fond about it.

Ron was like magpie, honing in on silver and gold, but he didn’t give a shit about the craftsmanship. It was about the ownership, another tactic to dominate.

Chuck didn’t know how he felt about it, but it chafed at him. So he sat up, titled his head back and said, “you’re fucking noisy.”

Ron turned around and grinned. They hadn’t closed the curtains; in the moonlight Ron looked like a ghost.

“The house was incredible. Like you wouldn’t believe,” he turned back to the box and began pulling the loot out. “I think a General lived there. I’m sending Liebgott and the boys there tomorrow to strip down the weapons room. Aha!”

He pulled out something from the box with a flourish, holding it up above his head. It glinted in the moonlight, but before Chuck could see what it was Ron was walking towards him.

He stopped at the bed, and Chuck leaned back into the pillows.

“What did you get?”

He wanted to go back to sleep. He didn’t want Ron to run off all the time, so he tugged Ron by his sleeves until he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, and they were eye-level.

“A gift.”

Ron leaned over to kiss him, and placed something heavy in his lap as he pulled away.

“Oh,” Chuck said, looking down.

It was a switchblade, with a handle crafted from mother of pearl. The detailing was silver-plated, and when he extended it, the blade was curved, sharp with a serrated edge. He could do a lot of damage if he wanted. He wondered if there was any more damage to be done. The war had ended with the two of them sitting here in this room. But Chuck figured something would come up, the way things were want to do. It could be useful.

Chuck turned the blade around and saw a rose vine craved along the centre, like the design on the desk that Chuck had admired. He’d always liked roses, despite himself. In his mother’s garden back home they’d grown under his windowsill. During the summer he’d lean out his window at sunrise, and watch the petals open up towards the sun. He’d get dizzy from the smell, and Ron went on;

“There was a machete that had an ivory handle. But nothing else with roses.”

Chuck looked up at Ron, and saw him biting his lip. He was looking at Chuck’s hands holding the blade, like he couldn’t meet Chuck’s eye, and, even in the moonlight, Chuck could see Ron was blushing. The same colour as rose petals, he couldn’t help but think.

He put the blade aside, left it open on the bedside table and said, “let's go to sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

 

* * *

 

When he woke it was well past dawn, but still early enough that the open window let in a cold draught that filled the room. Ron was gone, and Chuck imagined him standing by the westward facing window and hour or two before, bathed in a cool light, smoking two cigarettes back-to-back.

It was the forth morning he’d woken up here. On the first it had still been dark, and Chuck had left Ron in the bed to fill up the tub. There was a bottle of creamy soap, almost empty, and Chuck had poured the rest of it into the water. It smelt like lavender, and Chuck had almost fallen asleep again in the dawn when Ron had pushed in behind him. He’d lit a cigarette with one hand, and with the other had run a soapy hand through Chuck’s hair, pulling him close to his chest.

“Hey,” he’d said, blowing smoking along the side of Chuck’s neck.

They hadn’t said anything else until long after the water cooled.

Now Chuck got up, figuring he should make himself useful somewhere. He stretched, feeling his spine crack as he reached towards the ceiling. The muscles in his legs and arms ached, and he scratched his stomach, thinking of what he and Ron had gotten up to yesterday. Pleased, he walked to the bathroom.

He showered, thinking it quicker than a bath, but spent too long standing under the hot stream. By the time he turned the taps his muscles felt loose, but the room was filled with steam. He’d wiped away the fog on the mirror with the damp towel Ron had dropped onto the floor, and used his shaving kit to shave, stole his toothbrush to clean his teeth.

When he opened the door into the bedroom the steam rushed out before him, getting swept up in the wind from the open window before it could settle. His skin was warm, but exposed to the breeze the hair on his arms prickled.

Yesterday in their haste his boots has been left haphazardly by the door, uniform strewn across the floor like they’d undressed everywhere rather than making a straight line for the bed. Ron was prone to throwing things he disliked and, picking up his jacket from the fair end of the room, Chuck figured Ron disliked his uniform immensely. The material was sturdy and unrumpled, and if he didn’t take off his jacket no one would be wise as to what he'd been up to.

Dressed, Chuck stood in front of the mirror. His boots were still by the door, and in his stockinged feet Chuck felt comical. He’d always thought men looked silly in just their socks, although Ron had gone sour after Chuck burst into laughter at the site of him lying back on the bed with only his feet covered. He’d been cold, he pouted, as Chuck clutched at his stomach.

“You’ve given me a stitch,” he’d laughed, struggling for breath, and Ron threw a pillow at him. The stormy look on his face had been worth it. Ron was fun to rile up, because you wouldn’t suspect that he could be.

From the window came the sound of the clock striking, and Chuck counted with it up to nine. The birds were singing, and Chuck thought he should be out with them, even if he was reluctant to leave.

He turned, feeling like he’d forgotten something, and his eyes fell on the bedside table. He picked the blade up, turning it in his hand, and saw something else carved on the side that had been blank last night. Chuck ran a finger along the lines as he read.

The letters were capitalised. Crude straight lines made from a knife edge pulled roughly marked the surface, the renderer too inexperienced carve a delicate cursive that matched the curling vines on the other side.  
  
It read; _’TIL DEATH_.

There were any number of ways Ron could have meant it. But, thinking about his stockinged feet, the way he looked up at Chuck in surprise, how he bit his lip, that he'd come back, Chuck could only think of one.

He smiled, and put the blade in his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off tagfic I wrote [here](https://onlythenuns.tumblr.com/post/161452032384/ruinsrebuilt-mjolll-captainronspeirs#notes). I am [onlythenuns](https://onlythenuns.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
